Draco saw Harry a lot in the following two days. At least he thought it was two days. The lights were left on at all times and it made it hard for him to get any sleep, not that he could sleep well. But Draco was knowledgeable enough in mind control tactics that he knew it was just the beginning. Everything was designed to break Draco. He wasn't allowed to sleep and meals were served to him in dirty dishes, making him not want to eat it. Slight ticking sounds were turned on from an unknown source to drive him out of his mind before being abruptly shut off. He was allowed glimpses of Harry often.
But Draco recognised the strategy and, not being Lucius Malfoy's son for nothing, knew how to combat it. He forced himself to sleep when he could, he ate everything he was given and drank the dirty water. And he smiled every time Harry came near. But Harry never looked at him...not once.
The most disturbing sensation was the loss of his magic. He called for it repeatedly, but it was of no use. He wondered briefly where his wand was, but knew that it was only a tool he no longer really used anymore. He only used his wand for show in truth. It was only a device that made his co-workers feel less unease, making them forget how very powerful he was. It wouldn't give him any more magic than he had at the moment, which was none. He was completely helpless in his cage, which had been reinforced against his Indago strength. Only another Supero could understand what would keep him confined.
Draco figured that he was in a main room or at least one that connected parts of the facility that Muroch and his mongrels used often. Harry would walk through the room from one hallway to the next. Muroch would be with him occasionally. Yet the Supero pheromone stayed in the air. Draco surmised that the bastard was pumping the scent through the ventilation to keep Harry on the leash no matter where he went. The mutts would come through as well, jeering and insulting him as they passed by his cage. He hoped that they would start poking him with a stick so that he could gain a weapon, but either they were smart enough not to do that, which he highly doubted, or they were on strict orders.
There were a few doors in the room. One was a storage closet while another led into a room he couldn't see. The last was a lab and was the room Muroch spent the most amount of time in. The door was often shut, but occasionally it would be left open and Draco would see into part of the room, watching as Muroch bustled about while humming to himself. It made Draco sick to think about what that bastard was doing in there.
"You know, your tactics aren't going to work. You colonials are outdated in your torture techniques," Draco mentioned casually one time as he sat at the bottom of his cage, his elbows resting on his upraised knees.
Muroch stopped crossing the room and stepped closer to the cage, smiling. He halted not far from the bars, but far enough back that Draco wouldn't be able to reach him. "Oh? You Brits figured out more impressive ways?" Muroch asked conversationally as if they were discussing chess over tea.
Draco nodded. "Well, perhaps I was spoiled. My father was quite the torturer in his day and liked to bring his work home with him on occasion. I picked up a few things here and there, you know."
"Yes," Muroch nodded. "I've heard some impressive things about your dad...in certain circles, of course. Not common knowledge or anything."
"I should hope not," Draco scoffed. "My father paid good money to clean our name of any residue his past affiliations may have left. In fact, you got some of that money, didn't you? DLM Company isn't a very ...clever name, is it?"
Muroch chuckled and rocked back on his heels while crossing his arms over his chest. "No, not one of my better ideas. But I was pressed for time, you understand." He narrowed his eyes at Draco and smiled. "I had wondered how you'd found us."
